Nations can't die?
by ohmygerditsanime
Summary: He couldn't believe that it had gone this far. It had been how long? A month, since he had visited Matthew? Talked to him? Noticed that he was there! And now... Now everything was screwed up because of him. Because... what kind of hero can't save his own little brother? Sick!Fic brotherly AmeCan. Will be extended. Poll in profile
1. Chapter 1

((I'M BAAAAAAAAACK! PLEASE DON'T HATE MEEEE!

Okay, so this story is based off of a roleplay I did with my Alfred on instagram! I hope that you enjoy!

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, and I only half-own what this was based off of, but I wrote this story with a lot of hard work at 1-3 one morning so yeah.))_

Recently Matthew had been kind of...out of it. Every time he moved, and sometimes when he didn't, he would be extremely light-headed, sometimes collapsing due to the dizziness. He always had a headache, ranging from the occasional minor pain to a full-out migraine, leaving him to try to fend it off in the darkness. Most annoying however were the unpleasant waves of nausea that came and go seemingly as they pleased. He wasn't eating, he was lucky to get a few hours of sleep a night, he was struggling to complete paperwork on time and hadn't gone to a meeting in a while. Matthew couldn't even remember how long he had been like this, his internal clock had just fell apart along with all of his health.

Still, being the stubborn representative of Canada he was, he believed that if he just waited a while then it would go away. So he didn't take any medication, and he didn't give himself any time to rest, always keeping himself busy with something to keep his mind off of how completely horrible he felt.

Today, Canada was utterly exhausted. His nausea was acting up, but he was sure that it had never been this bad before._ 'Maybe I should take a warm bath and relax for a while...But just for an hour at the most then I'll get back to work'_ Matthew thought as he stumbled to the bathroom attached to his bedroom, leaning on the doorway so that he didn't fall over. He wobbled to the bathtub and weakly tugged on the handle marked with a red 'H' until it moved to the right and hot water began spurting out of the faucet.

He slowly slid off his clothes, wincing when he had to bend over and another sharp pain was sent through his lower abdomen. With a slight splash he lowered himself into the quarter-full bathtub and sighed a little. The warm water helped to keep his disagreeing stomach at bay and he could allow himself some time to think about everything that had happened. Sure his sickness seemed to be getting worse, but he could just be imagining that after all. Nothing was wrong with his country, the economy, global connections, everything was going to well, booming even. So there was no reason for him to be sick really. ...But what if something really was wrong? What if it isn't something connected to his country? What if it's more than just a common cold or a stomach flu? What if, what if, what if. So many filled his head, not helping the headache he was currently sporting. Everything was going to be fine.

Or so he thought.

When he had finished with his bath he took his time to get up, trying not to upset his head or his stomach as he pulled the plug from the bath and let the water drain out. Matthew looked in the mirror at his reflection, grimacing at what he saw. This 'little illness' sure had gotten to his body in more ways than one. He put on a change of clothes; a red sweatshirt and a pair of khakis, something not too fancy but not simple pajamas.

When he had buttoned the tannish-yellow pants his stomach lurched violently, the stabbing pain coming back stronger than ever. He collapsed to the floor in front of the toilet and leaned on the lid in case he had to vomit. Sure enough, he started dry-heaving into the toilet. His eyes were screwed shut as he tried to empty something out of his stomach that wasn't there. He could feel his stomach contracting in what he determined the most painful way possible. After what felt like hours of choking out and riding the waves of agonising torture he tasted the bile that rose up his throat and spit it out, vomiting the gruesome yellowish-brown liquid into the toilet. He whimpered as he finished getting the puke out of his body. When done he collapsed, half against the toilet seat and half against the wall beside it, rubbing at his slightly teary eyes. '_What's wrong with me?'_

* * *

Alfred hadn't visited his little brother in a while, almost a month actually, so he figured that he should stop by to play a game of baseball or make pancakes, or to just hang out really. He knocked on the door once before remembering his 'no knocking' policy and barged into the house uninvited. "MATTIE! YOU HOME?!" He wandered through the house, laughing at how stereotypically Canadian it was. The decorations, the furniture, the set of hockey gear and posters. Not even mentioning the secret maple cellar in his backyard. Walking through the hallway led to him invading Matthew's room, never mind privacy issues. When Alfred was near the bathroom he thought he had heard something coming from inside it. Listening closely his eyes widened when he heard a sound he had heard many times over his life, on the battlefield and in hospitals alike. But why would his little brother be vomiting? He wasn't sick...was he? "Mattie!" He yelled through the door, still not knocking. "You in there?!"

Matthew swore that he heard someone calling his name, causing him to laugh somewhat bitterly and led into a coughing fit. Well that didn't really help his worn down lungs and throat at all. Nobody visited him except for Francis and Alfred... but they were always so busy.

Alfred tried on the handle and started panicking when it wouldn't open. Shit, locked. "Mattie! Answer me bro!" He threw his weight against the door a few times before realizing that the idea usually only worked in movies and was admittedly a pretty stupid one. "C'mon..." He muttered under his breath as he tried the door handle again, jiggling it and twisting it every way, but to no avail.

Matthew heard thumping and banging sounds coming from the other side of the door, and by now he was at least fifty percent sure that he wasn't hallucinating or just imagining things. He tried to get up and reach for the door, but it just seemed so far away. His whole body was frozen in place, refusing to move. Besides it only caused him more turmoil trying to think about anything and making his head pound even worse. He chose to quietly sit there and hope for the noises to go away soon and let him stay on the floor for just a few more minutes.

Alfred knew that he was in there, he had to be. So why was he freaking out so much? It's just...he knew that something was wrong. Really, really wrong. When he had searched through the house he had noticed something but put it off as unimportant, but now it came nagging at him. The whole air of the house smelled dirty and like sick, and the place looked completely trashed and unkempt, something Matthew's house was never supposed to be like. "Mattie!" He called through the door one last time. Oh well, doors weren't that hard to replace, right? He threw all his weight against the bathroom door, banging it down off its hinges and sending it crashing down to the ground. Huh, so all those Hollywood movies hadn't been bluffing about everything.

Matthew didn't even flinch as the door fell to the floor, not even whining about 'how it had been antique, eh?!'. He just continued to lean against the toilet and try to calm down his breathing, which was suddenly coming in very rapid and laboured. When had inhaling and exhaling become such a challenge to him? The frown on his face deepened as his stomach continued to roll around dreadfully, and again squeezed his hazy and disoriented eyes closed.

"God what happened to you?" He asked, mostly talking aloud to himself, horrified at the sight of his brother hunched over the toilet, dead for all he knew. He knelt next to Matthew and looked over his condition with a confused look clear on his face. "Mattie, Mattie what happened? What's wrong?"

Matthew moaned quietly as a sharp pain rippled through his lower and upper abdomen, trying to find a way to answer his brother without puking again. "I...I-" He stuck his head into the toilet, clutching the base like it was a lifeline. 'I can't throw up in front of him, I can't throw up in front of him, I can't throw up in front of him.' He repeated it over and over in his head, like a never-ending mantra. His head started to pulse quicker and he swallowed some bile that had found its way up his throat and into his mouth.

Alfred's eyes widened considerably and he clutched the top of the toilet with one hand, setting the other gently on Matthew's shoulder. "It's okay, it's alright... Just let it out." He murmured consolingly, attempting to comfort himself as well as his brother.

The urge had been hard for Matthew to fight - he had been silently gagging into the toilet even - but when he felt the arm placed on his shoulder he couldn't hold back any longer. His grip on the toilet bowl tightened to the point where Alfred was afraid it might crack and break, and he was shaking head to toe by the time it was over. Matthew choked back a sob as he let his arms fall limply next to the porcelain bowl that he now knew had more uses than one, with more experience then he would have liked.

Alfred winced and closed the lid, flushing the throw up away. "There. Now it's gone, okay?" He looked over at his brother worriedly. "Are you alright?" He knew, it was a really dumb question, especially after witnessing his brother puking his guts out and shaking like a rag doll.

Ignoring his bodies aching; Matthew looked up at his brother wearing an uneasy smile on his face. "I'll be fine. Just caught a little cold." He let his head fall again, thankful that his long hair covered his face in a way that made it so that Alfred couldn't see he was silently crying, or the remains of spit up on his face.

Alfred, who didn't know the difference between a cold and cancer, was still worried sick. He gently pulled back Matthew's hair and put it behind his ear to see his face, and used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away the throw up. "Mattie..." He started reluctantly, as if part of him didn't want to know the answer. "How long?"

"I don't know." Was all Matthew could manage to say. All of the sudden activity (vomiting, crying, talking, thinking, more vomiting) had left his head thumping madly, as if his brain was rattling against his skull. Really, he had been like this for so long, pushing it away, denying anything and everything that it seemed more like an everyday occurrence to feel like this.

Alfred knelt in front of his ill brother, trying to get a good look into his once sparkling violet eyes, now dull and seemingly lifeless. It pained him to look into them and see just a mere outline of what his brother was before. "You don't look... You don't look right. You look empty." He continued quietly, "Sick." What Alfred had said was more than right. Matthew's hair was messy and damp with sweat and water from his the bath he had taken earlier, but it was obviously not as taken care of. It had lost its shine that France loved to gloat about - a lot - and seemed a lot flatter, as if it had lost its bounce. His brother who had always been small and frail had lost much more weight then he should have, and he could tell even through the sweatshirt that his ribs were more than likely visible. His skin was paler than its already far from tan shade, now a sickly yellowish-white.

Overall, if you took even a half of a glance at him you could tell that he was ill.

Still, Matthew just chuckled hoarsely and let his eyes flutter closed, shifting most of his weight from the toilet to the wall to try to get somewhat comfortable. "Don't worry about me Al. I'll be fine. I promise..." He whispered the last part, trying to hide the undertone of doubt in his voice and hoping it wasn't too noticeable.

Alfred searched his brother's eyes, trying to determine whether his little brother was telling the truth. Looking into the dreary purple spheres he knew there was no way. He wasn't fine. And that broke his heart. "You're not okay, are you?" He shook his head sadly, and if he was in any other situation he would laugh at the stereotypical Canadian ways of putting others problems before his own, no matter how big. But this was serious. He decided to add in a more stern, yet mostly soft tone, "And don't lie, 'cause I know you're not." He gripped Matthew's frail hand in his own strong one and knelt there with him on the bathroom floor, trying to figure out just what was wrong.

Matthew sighed and whispered in a tone that was quieter than his usual near silent one if it were even possible, "I-I don't know...I'm just so tired and everything hurts..." He gave up and trying to deny everything. He just couldn't lie to his brother anymore, not like this anyways. Matthew weakly tried to get a tighter grip on Alfred's hand when a sudden rush of dizziness made the room start spinning. "Al..." He whispered hazily, "S'il vous plait, [French: please] make it stop... I-I'm dizzy..."

Alfred's eyes widened and he slid his hands under his brother, gently picking him up and mentally taking note of how light he was. "Just close your eyes, relax, you'll be alright." He muttered before repeating, "You'll be alright."

Being lifted up, Matthew's furrowed his eyebrows and sank into Alfred's arms. The feeling wasn't good for the sudden bout of dizziness that had come upon him and added on to the now rapidly growing queasy feeling, but he was too worn out to argue. "Umm... Where to now..." He stepped out into the master bedroom and quickly decided that setting him down on the bed would be the best thing to do. Alfred settled for sitting up against the headboard with Matthew on top of him, grabbing a small stack of pillows and setting them down onto his lap before placing Matthew's head smoothly onto the makeshift area of comfort. He also grabbed the small trash can that was set out next to the bed, setting it down close to his brother's head. Just in case.

Matthew groaned quietly as his breathing started to speed up at an alarming pace, sending a tight pinch of pain through his upper body every time he inhaled. "A-Al." He breathed out, noticing how awful he sounded.

Alfred took Matthew's left hand into his again and looked down at him with a comforting, yet forced, smile. "Shh, you don't have to say anything."

"I-I..." He shuddered as a frigid chill traveled down his spine as he started to shake slightly. "It hurts... M-Make it stop Al... Please."

"I'm sorry Mattie, I can't... I-I can't!" He ran his hand through Matthew's rumpled hair, removing the other from his grasp and massaging small circles into the small of his back, trying to help him relax. Matthew grimaced as another razor-sharp pain traveled through his chest, causing him to inhale sharply and in the end only making it worse. He tried to calm down, to just focus on the soothing gestures, and managed to start drifting to sleep. Alfred smiled softly at him, "There you go, go ahead and fall asleep. You'll be alright, I'll make sure that you're okay." He began to trace small patterns on his chest, one of them an American flag (ignoring that he didn't do all fifty stars) and the other a maple leaf.

Matthew looked up at him, with a tired, however troubled stare. "What if...What if I don't wake up? I'm... Al I'm scared..." He trailed off, hoping for some sort of reassurance.

"No no no, you'll wake up." He flashed him a small smile, "I'll make sure of it okay? I promise... And I'm the hero, so you can trust me! I promise you won't-" He couldn't finish the sentence, so he just swallowed the lump in his throat and continued to run his hand through Matthew's hair comfortingly.

"O-Okay Al... I trust you." Matthew smiled weakly back at his brother one last time before letting his eyes flutter closed and almost immediately fell into a restless sleep.

Once he knew that Matthew was asleep Alfred let his head hang low as he looked down at his brother. "Please stay with me..." He choked out softly, suddenly very scared for Matthew, Canada, his little brother that he loved so, so much it hurt him to see him in this position. He clutched Matthew's hand again, not wanting to let go.

_Matthew was sleeping, but he was also having a dream, a rather strange one at that. He was watching over his family and friends, along with all the other nations. They looked so sad... as if they were mourning over something they had lost that was very important to them, most of them were openly weeping. The dream was as if he were a deaf man, or else everyone else had gone mute... What had reduced them to this, what had upset them so much that they would show the weakness almost all of them were against ever allowing themselves to use?_

Meanwhile Alfred was having a battle with himself, trying to choose if he should let him continue to sleep or wake him up. What if Matthew had been right? What if he really didn't wake up? "Mattie," He murmured tenderly, "Mattie, maybe... Maybe you want to wake up now..."

_He looked around and saw his family. Arthur had a blank expression, as if he were in denial or some sort of shock as he watched Alfred and Francis. They were both emotional wrecks. Crying, and by the way it looked screaming, but what were they saying?! Matthew spotted a few of his close friends and a big crowd of the nations. Tensions seemed to be set aside as everybody sought some form of comfort, not a dry eye was in sight. Evan Ivan was hugging Gilbert, who wasn't freaking out but sobbing heavily into the Russian's chest. What had made them all like this? What hurt them so badly? He had to know, he had to help somehow! "You should really wake up now Mattie!" A voice, Alfred's, broke into his dream. Was something wrong? He didn't know but... still he wanted to investigate the mysterious place just a while longer._

"P-Please wake up!" Alfred was getting more worried by the second, shaking Matthew's limp body and feeling tears begin to prick at the back of his eyes. "N-No! Please, please don't be dead!" He choked out, raising his voice a decibel higher. "C'mon! Wake up!"

Matthew felt himself being taken from the dream, but tried to stop it. Something was shaking him awake. 'N-No! I...I have to know what happens! What's going on?!' Abruptly, Matthew was pulled out of sleep. Through tearful eyes he reached out for the garbage can and tried to empty his stomach, to relieve the clenching pain sprouting from the spot, but nothing came out. Still, he felt his stomach pushing and his gag reflex was on a continuing series of on again off again contracting, making him dry-heave violently.

Alfred tried to hold him as Matthew continued to ride the waves of unsuccessful hurling, silently thanking every god he could think of for keeping his brother alive. He quietly mumbled in his ear, "It's alright almost over, almost done. Just keep breathing...!" Alfred couldn't help but feel relieved, even if only the slightest. If Matthew hadn't woken up, especially after what he had promised... he didn't know what he would do. After what seemed like ages for both of them, Matthew dropped the trash can and collapsed half on the bed and half on Alfred. His whole figure was trembling again as his breaths came in and out in uncoordinated, labored wheezes. Alfred's eyes widened in concern, and he gripped tightly onto Matthew's hand. "Are you alright?"

Matthew hesitated at what he should answer. He wasn't really okay... was he? At this point, he had enough evidence to convince himself that it was more than a common cold, but it couldn't be anything serious enough to make a big deal out of...right? He slowly shook his head in an attempt to not cause anymore dizziness or promote more use of the trash can. "No...I don't th-think I am..." He raspily breathed out. "I...I'm going to die...aren't I?"

Alfred gasped, shocked that his brother would just say that out of the blue. "NO! No way in fucking hell!" He stopped when he realized he was yelling and his eyes began to get hazy, his eyesight being clouded by unshed tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Mattie, no, no you're... you're not going to die... No..."

Matthew felt horrible in more ways than one. His head felt like somebody was smashing it in with a hammer, and the world was spinning only accomplishing to make him more squeamish. His chest was hurting and breathing was only becoming more difficult and causing excruciating pain. But... he had done this to his brother. He had made him act completely out of character, and reduced him to crying. His hazy mind flashed back to the dream, how everybody had been, and something just clicked. "Al..." He whispered urgently.

Alfred couldn't give up... not now, not yet. His brother would get better, and he would make sure of it. He saw how broken Matthew was, and he couldn't think of anything to do to help. Watching his brother in so much pain and seeing him so miserable... it was making him go insane. He took a deep breath and let the emotions overwhelming him leave, trying to focus on one thing and one thing only. Matthew, his little brother who needed him. "What is it Mattie?" He asked quietly smiling down at him the best that he could manage.

"I think I... need to see a doctor. Or do... while something. I-I'm not fine..." He uttered under his breath, half of him; the before mentioned stubborn half, hoping Alfred couldn't hear him.

"Oh yeah!" Alfred brightened up and flipped his shiny Android smart phone out of his pocket. "That's what you're supposed to do when you're sick, right?" For a second he stared at the phone in his hand, not really sure who he should dial. He shrugged and punched in 911.

"Yeah." Despite everything that had happened and still was happening, Matthew couldn't help but feel a little relieved at the question, for the first time realizing that Alfred might actually know a bit of what he was doing. "You call the doctor and make an appointment, yay...~" His voice dragged out happily pronouncing the last syllable as he smiled up at his brother, well more at the ceiling.

Alfred beamed one of his cliche 'American' grins -he had no idea what the heck he was doing but was glad that Matthew agreed to it- and held the phone up to his ear.

**_"Hello?"_** A monotone, but obviously female voice answered, **_"This is 911 services, what is your emergency?"_**

Staring up at the ceiling, Matthew giggled goofily as his high fever began to get to him and he started to hallucinate. "Oh, why hello there little fishy!" He gurgled, waving to the small blue fish he saw floating through the air. "You're quite a good swimmer, eh?"

Alfred glanced over at Matthew anxiously and inwardly cursed himself for not noticing just how red he was, but now the hue was very obvious against his pale skin and he could feel the heat radiating off his body, seeming to mock him. Also he was a little freaked out yet somewhat used to it because of Arthur and his... *cough cough* friends. "Uhm, my brother, he's sick. Like, really sick. I really don't know how long he's been like this, but now he's seeing fishies! THAT AREN'T THERE! He needs help, so help him!" He called into the phone concerned.

"Oh, you're from Africa? Well that's reeeeally far away how did you get here all the way from Africa?" He ignored his throat practically screaming at him in pain and paused for a second before nudging Alfred. "SSSH! Bubbles is about to tell us his story!" 'Bubbles' swam around before pulling a book out of thin air holding it in front of him with hands that had sprouted out of his body. _"Ahemhem."_ Bubbles cleared his throat before putting on a pair of reading glasses and speaking out loud in a deep voice, _"It all started in the year of 1976."_

Alfred spoke quieter as not to disturb the fish's story. "So please, come help! Before the fishy starts his story and takes over my brother's mind!"

For a few seconds there was no response until she responded in a questioning tone,**_ "...Sir, have you been drinking any alcoholic beverages lately?"_**

Alfred whined at the implication, "Nooooooo!"

_"I had been in love with a fine lass-"_

Matthew smiled at the fish before interrupting him, "One second please." He turned over and took the phone from Alfred, holding up to his ear as well as he could and trying to get it to stop shaking. "Hello~" He whispered into the phone and coughed weakly a few times, ignoring all of Alfred's protests.

_**"Oh, hello."**_The voice of the woman was softer and she was surprised by the sudden change of voices.

"Well, we called for me but I'm feeling much better now! is going to tell me a story about about how he swam through the air all the way from Africa, then he'll heal me with his magic fishy powers! This is a lot better than when I was constantly throwing up and having trouble breathing! All of the aches are gone now, I can't feel a thing! Isn't it great?" He stayed cheerful through the whole miniature speech and smiled at Alfred and .

Alfred smiled back, slightly scared for his sanity before slowly taking the phone back out of his grasp. "So...yeah! Get over here quickly before the fish thingy (" isn't just a fish thingy!" Matthew whined, but was ignored) really does take over!"

There was a sound of a pen scribbling quickly onto paper and the 911 operator replied,**_ "We already tracked your location, an ambulance is being sent to you as soon as possible. This better not be a joke. And make sure to tell your brother that is a con man, he never had a girl fish, and that he's from Alaska, not Africa he's never even left the country."_**

Matthew was rolling around on the bed then fell off, sending him into a fit of coughing and giggling. "Fever all through the morning! Fever all through the ni~ght! Fever when you kiss me! Fever when you hold me tight!" He sang as loud as his throat would let him, which was actually really quiet. He sat up and started wheezing again, still managing to fit a laugh whenever he had even the smallest amount of breath available.

Alfred watched as he hung off the bed, staring down at his seemingly crazy brother with a confused/disturbed/awed look on his face. "Please get here soon..." He whispered through the phone and hung up, then jumped off the bed and took a seat next to Matthew on the floor.

"Hey...Hey Al, isn't it pretty?" Matthew muttered under his breath, focusing on a point in the distance and leaning on him slightly.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but part of him knew that he would later regret finding out the answer. "What's pretty?"

Matthew continued to lay there in the same awkward position for a second with a blank expression before wheeze-laughing a few more times. "I forgot, but there is-" His breath hitched as the pain from earlier returned to his chest, only this time seemingly a million times worse. He stopped breathing and clawed at his chest pathetically, trying to somehow get his lungs to start up again.

"Woah!" Alfred pulled Matthew's hands down from his chest and glanced at him with a troubled gaze."C'mon, get here soon!" He yelled at no one in particular, trying to keep himself and Matthew calm.

He wheezed as he continued trying to breathe pitifully, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he tried to get some air to his lungs, but there was some unknown pressure on them cutting off all his air supply.

When Alfred figured out that Matthew couldn't breathe he started freaking out. Was this really the end? "NO!" He shouted, laying Matthew fully on the ground, and compressing his chest, doing his best to perform cpr without losing it completely. "N-No!" Matthew looked up at his brother, desperately trying to breathe as his chest was pumped. In his eyes Alfred could see pain, hopelessness, desperation, but the most prominent emotion was fear. "You're not going to die, nope not here, not now. You're going to live, you'll be fine, you-you'll be happy." Alfred gave him a tearful, bitter smile. "H-Happy..." Had Matthew ever really been happy? "You'll be happy, you'll get better, you'll be happy, you'll get better." He chanted it over and over as he did the chest compressions, stopping every thirty seconds to bend down and shakily blow air into his lungs. "You'll be happy, you'll get better." Alfred was holding in sobs as he tried to do something, anything to save his brother. The piercing sound of sirens echoed from a few streets away, giving Alfred just the smallest smidge of hope.

Matthew tried to listen to his brother's chanting, tried to steadily inhale and exhale, or even to preserve some air in his lungs. His head was starting to get hazier, and everything going on was just white noise in the background. His vision was being invaded by black spots that threatened to completely take over. Right after Alfred removed his lips from Matthew's he used the last of his breath to say as clearly as he could, "I'm sorry Al. I love you." Then his mind and sight went blank. It was a strange feeling, not being able to see anything or to move any part of his body. He couldn't hear much either, but there were rushed shouts that were quickly becoming more and more muffled.

Alfred had picked Matthew up, clutching him close to his chest. "I love you... I love you too!" After the words had left his mouth, he began to wail, his whole body racked with sobs. His vision became blurred by the tears, he blocked everything out, leaving him with a completely numb feeling. No... No, no, no. People rushed in, they yelled, their shouts bouncing off the walls and shook him. They pried Matthew from his arms and lifted him with ease onto a stretcher, attaching a mask to his face to give him oxygen, in one last desperate attempt to save him. Alfred pleaded, literally on his knees begging for them to let him on the ambulance. He stumbled inside and kneeled next to the stretcher that held his brother, placing his head down onto Matthew's chest, which was no longer moving steadily up and down.

Matthew was in a hazy, barely conscious, barely alive, state. He was lying on the cot, but he could barely feel it under him. There was the smallest weight on his face and chest, but it was hard to tell if there was anything there or it was just his body and mind teaming up to play tricks on him. He was so dizzy... an uneasy feeling flooding through him. A minute or so ago he had decided that trying to breathe was a waste of energy, which he was already lacking. There was something being sent to his lungs, but it wasn't traveling farther. A waste of air. His heart was steadily slowing down, almost reaching a complete standstill.

Alfred felt as if he were in a scene straight from a horror movie, more as if he were watching it but still experiencing it at the same time. He was not really in it, he wasn't really there, it had to be some kind of horrible dream, some sick nightmare. "I love you." His voice cracked as he repeated the statement over and over, not able to stop thinking about what might have been his brother's last words. "I love you." He couldn't die. "I love you." No not yet, this wasn't supposed to happen, none of this was supposed to happen. "I love you."_ 'Please... Please don't go Mattie. I love you too, I'm sorry I never told you but I love you too!'_

Matthew realized, what was going on. He was dying. But... Nations can't die, right?

...Right?

He never actually knew, it's just what everyone was told, it was what they believed. All he knew was that if he didn't start breathing again soon then he would find out the hard way. After much effort, he slowly managed to open his mouth and gasped for air.

Alfred gasped when he saw Matthew, part of him was moving, he was trying to breathe, and he wasn't dead. There was still hope. "M-Mattie?" He grasped Matthew's hand, he would much rather hug him but in this position it wasn't possible. He held back a loud sob and hoped no one noticed as he shook his head in disbelief. No... It had to be too good to be true. He couldn't believe it, the most wonderful news that just seemed impossible.

Matthew kept trying to breathe, but there was something stopping him, as if an obstacle that was obscuring his lungs pathway. Something /was/ wrong. Maybe... Maybe if he had gotten help sooner. Maybe if he had actually told someone, anyone, about what had been happening, then things wouldn't have gotten so bad. But he hadn't.

The ambulance slammed to a stop and Alfred grimaced, knowing that soon he would probably be forced to leave Matthew while the doctors did... whatever the hell doctors do. Truthfully he didn't know and he didn't care either. As long as it could help Mattie get better.

Matthew was wheeled out of the ambulance, mulling over how all of this could have been prevented. Still, he had no doubts on one thing, it was his own fault. He had been given a month, a whole month, to try and get somebody's attention, but he had failed. This is why he was always ignored, being so weak and stupid and so... well so forgettable. He couldn't even get one person's attention to tell him he was **this** ill!

Alfred shakily stood up and followed his brother when he was carried away, stubbornly refusing to go wait in the waiting room and to leave Matthew alone with the doctors. A young lady approached him (he didn't know but it was the same woman from the telephone call) and set her hand on his shoulder trying to console him somehow. He jumped a little at the unexpected touch and looked up at the woman with teary eyes. "Wh-What?" She said nothing but led him to a small room where Matthew was also being carted into. Alfred stood to the side as the doctors did their thing, his head bowed as silent tears streamed down his face. He couldn't believe that it had gone this far. It had been how long? A month, since he had visited Matthew? Talked to him? Fucking noticed that he was there?! And now... now everything was screwed up because of him. Because... what kind of hero can't save his own little brother?

There were needles, and still the lingering voices of the loud strangers. Why were they so loud? Couldn't they just be quiet and let him sleep? He was so tired... But he knew that he couldn't allow him to slip into the blackness. He might not wake up. He didn't even know these people, yet his life was more than likely in the palm of their hands.

Alfred waited, waited for them to operate and do whatever doctors do when they help people. He couldn't look... but he had to. He glimpsed through the fingers that had been blocking his eyes and saw emptiness. A shell of his brother that was struggling not to crack into small pieces. It broke his heart. How had it gotten this far? How had he allowed this to happen? Alfred squatted down next to him and weakly intertwined his pinky finger with Matthew's, keeping there as a connection with Matthew.

The only one he had left.

((Okay, so that's that! I do have a very reasonable explanation for Matthew's sickness!

But I'm not going to tell you! =D  
Before you kill me, I mean I'm not telling you in this chapter. This story might get longer if enough people like it! I don't really know any of your opinions on this, so please read and review, and I hope to post more for all of you real soon!))


	2. Poll

To those who think this is the second chapter I apoligize! This is me informing you something _about _ the story. In my profile there is a poll that is ABSOLUTELY CRUCIAL for the continuation of this story, and because it got such positive feedback I plan on writing more chapters.

I wanted to get your opinions on what pairing (if there should be one) this story will have Matthew in. So, if you could take a moment to go to my profile and vote I would greatly appreciate it, and it would help get the story written faster! Also if you want to suggest a specific pairing you could private message me!

Thank you very much, I appreciate and love all of you!


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